


odi et amo (ad mortem)

by penrosely



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mind Games, author is in a love/hate relationship with the source material
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosely/pseuds/penrosely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He says you <em>want</em> him to be Kira.<br/>You don't deny it.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>I hate and I love. Why do I do this, you perhaps ask.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I do not know, but I feel it happening and am tormented.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	odi et amo (ad mortem)

**Author's Note:**

> This is like my feelings about Death Note. It's a mess.

**_odi et amo (ad mortem)_ **

* * *

He says you _want_ him to be Kira.

You don't deny it.

* * *

When he asks you "What are the chances that I'm Kira?" you hold his gaze, steady. You reply "16%," plain and simple.

"It usually hovers around 16.3 these days. The other day," your voice slows and his eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly but you have been watching him for so long, him and his lies and half-truths, that you can catch it and you count a small victory, "it even reached 18%."

It's a lie. Next time, you think, you will say 15.7, and you will sigh, as though this thought pains you, and perhaps he will see through the ruse or perhaps he will not. Undoubtedly, he will flash you the same smile he flashes you now, the quick one that lights something like molten rock behind his eyes and brands the image of perfection over his skin. He never seems to notice it. You notice, and you tuck the memory behind the rest of the smiles.

He replies in that so casual and impersonal voice that makes you _sure_ it is not at all casual or impersonal, and he says, pauses and quips already prepared, "Well... I guess that means I have to try harder to convince you." He smiles again, gasglow and and grinning skulls.

You finish your cake, and offer him a slice.

* * *

There are days when you doubt yourself.

There are days when his smiles aren't so predatory, when he seems too confused and his deductions are off the mark. On those days you questions yourself. But it passes quickly, because, as he so aptly puts it, you _want_ him to be Kira. But not quite.

You need him to be Kira.

Because he acts perfect. He is, essentially, perfect. The night god in shining armor. His very name is contradictory. He twists your brain in wonderful ways, bringing up ideas you've never considered but that seem _so right_ that you wonder where they have been. You see this all, you calculate the intent behind his movements and analyze him as he analyzes you. But to the rest of the world, he is perfect, a model and an example and a statue set on a golden pedestal.

But that is why he must be Kira.

Because if he is not Kira, he is... boring. If he is not Kira he is another wasted genius trying desperately to be perfect but with very human flaws nonetheless. And no, you don't want that. Because that is _normal_ , and _normal_ is _boring_.

You yourself stand precariously on the edge of normal. You walk the thin line that separates _odd, interesting, different_ , and _insane, wrong, useless_. It is a struggle, every moment, to be eccentric and not crazy.

You want Light to be Kira, because if he is not, he has been wasted. Six feet of deadly potential wasted and ruined, put under just like the rest.

And so there are days when his smile is an apex predator, an angel with glowing wings, a god who doles out righteous judgment to those he deems worthy, and there are days when his curving lips are blood, red rum and fangs, made for lies and kisses of death, and then his hands are the grim reaper skimming over the backs of mortals, plucking at souls like an experiment and you swear you can hear his heartbeat as if it is yours and it is a _timebomb_.

* * *

One day, you ask him to play checkers.

"Checkers," he repeats, and you nod, biting you thumb and making your gaze appear bored, a touch of distraction just for theatrics. "I would have pegged you for more of a chess guy."

But there are things you can learn about another besides strategy. There is raw instinct and simple statements. He is red and you are black. And you think color suits him, blood being both life and death.

You give him the first move, because you know this will set him on edge, and you do so love to watch him worry over the meaning of your actions.

He wins, in the end, acting suddenly and skipping over half a dozen pieces with one move and you forfeit. "I know when I've lost," you say, and the look he gives you is murderous and you think that it must _grate_ him, to be Kira and to have so much power at his fingertips yet for you to have these small moments of control, a single battle won, a tennis match and a game of checkers.

It's okay that he won. You don't doubt that he remembers his every victor and defeat. You dont'5 doubt that her could tell you about an impressive number of his victims. 68% of scenarios say you will die by the time Kira is captured, exposed, or defeated in some way. A 44% possibility he will be the one to kill you.

You wonder if he will enjoy it.

* * *

Sometimes you want to grab him.

Sometimes you want to clench your fists and swing, swing at his lava eyes and gasglow smiles and all of his dangerous, repressed, caged and masked and coiled up potential for destruction and chaos and the abnormal perfection that is a flaw, a beautiful flaw, the greatest flaw that is chained but ready to break free and you want to tell him it is alright, it is okay that he is flawed and you admire it and we don't have to kill each other, we don't have to play this game of (tennis, checkers, chess) death (lies) and _please_ , would he please join you because you are tired of denial and you do not know what you would do together but it would be great, it would be marvelous because together you are two great minds and you need him because he understands, knows how you think and feel and he will realize that you think he is beautiful. He is beautiful and miraculous and the odds that he is Kira are 99% (the 1% grates you) but he knows that, _doesn't he?_ and the possibility that you will kill him is 37% and the possibility that he will kill you is 55% but you gladly accept those odd and the odds that you both die, simultaneous defeats, are 4% (a number of death).

He has eyes like the sweetest honey if honey were blood and you want to _grab_ him, to look into those terrible eyes that do unspeakable things to your mind and ask him about the first time, the second and third and _all the times_ , Kira, that you killed and _was it beautiful?_ and how does he stand it, stand the power because for you every day is a struggle not to let you heart be the ticks of a bomb and take everyone away with you.

You do not lie. You know he won't enjoy killing you. He will _love_ it.

And so will you.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Catallus 85-  
> "odi et amo quare id faciam fortasse requiris / nescio sed fieri sentio et excrucior" (I hate and I love. Why do I do this, you perhaps ask. / I do not know, but I feel it happening and am tormented.)  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> "ad mortem" (to death)
> 
> * * *


End file.
